


On We Trekked The Starless Void

by PocketMonkey



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: 1920's, AU, Arkham Horror Crossover, Cthulhu Mythos, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PocketMonkey/pseuds/PocketMonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirkwall is swept up in the golden Jazz Age. Her streets are filled with flashy music, loud parties, bootlegged liquor, and money by the pile. But far beneath it's glitz and glamour, in the still deep below, something is beginning to wake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On We Trekked The Starless Void

_[In Which Bethany Rides The Train]_

The windows had fogged over during the trip, caused by the heat that blew from ornate golden vents in the floor of the train car. After fruitlessly wiping the cool condensation from the window with her gloved fingertips for the third time in almost twenty minutes, Bethany sighed and placed her hands in her lap. Folding fingers over fingers, and resisted the urge to wring them together. Twilight had long since passed, and there was no scenery to be viewed. Only a quickly vanishing hope of some sort of small, meaningless comfort found in empty distractions that passed the time.

A tired car attendant, eyes crinkled at the edges and mouth drawn in a thin line, had told Bethany offhandedly that the heat was pumped in through a series of pipes from the engine room. It fed some of the steam from the engine into the cars, to keep them warm. 

"Best train company around," He said, quickly flicking his eyes towards the gleaming gold and red doors that connected the passenger car she was riding in with the dining car that had been closed for their short trip from Boston, and then back to her upturned face. "Can't find more luxury with any other line, ma'am." He gave her a curt nod, brushing the brim of his hat with two fingertips, and swiftly walked away before she could ask anything else of him. 

That had been nearly an hour ago. She had watched as he moved with practiced ease down the aisle, unhindered by the rhythmic rocking of the train, before slipping through an impossibly narrow opening in the doors to the dining car. He had turned slightly, face covered in shadow, his body awash of muted red velvet and she thought she could feel his eyes brush across her before the doors slid shut with a soft click.

The car was warmed, and comfortable. Her seat was not made of planks, like many of the trains she had ridden on before her families triumphant reclaim of their place in society. It was deeply cushioned, covered with a textured black fabric trimmed in red cording, gold bars gleaming above the headrests, which matched flickering gold gaslight fixtures scattered throughout the car. Surfaces gleamed, fabrics were clean, windows washed and hardwood floors shined. Marion would have relished in the ridiculousness of it, throwing herself into the role of flamboyant heiress with boisterous glee, making Bethany giggle and unwind, regardless of how uncomfortable and like a fraud open displays of wealth made her feel.

Opulent accommodations aside, it was not the condition of the car that had prompted Bethany to engage the attendant in a conversation about the gilded vents set into the floor along the wall near every seat, it was the _smell_.

It was faint, barely registering in her mind as an odor at all. A phantom drifting past her at odd times, catching her attention before wafting away unidentified only to be disregarded. She breathed deep and found it vanished each time she paid enough mind to it to wonder what it could be. Perhaps stale. Perhaps bitter. Perhaps sulfur. Perhaps metallic. Perhaps the deep, salt-laden mineral smell of debris washed ashore after a summer storm, and left to bake in the afternoon sun. 

So she had asked, and found, perhaps, that it was the smell of steam, piped from an engine to heat a train car. It lingered even now, and at times it filled her nose so greatly in an instant that she lifted the back of her hand to her face with a grimace, only to breathe and find the smell had dissipated.

It was odd and jarring, and she decided it suited the entire culmination of events that led to her current situation.

Phantom smell. Phantom problems. Phantom sister. 

Far below all the anger, confusion and concern was a tight pocket of love, one that fought through the thick feelings that worked to hold it down and bubbled through Bethany with a ferocious warmth that was frighting at the thought of her older sister.

Marion.

Impudent. Rash. Merciless to the edge of cruelty. Marion moved through you like a whirlwind, appearing out of nowhere, breathless and exciting, catching you in her storm's eye, convincing all around her to push their boundaries and leap beside her into a vast chasm of unknown. With Marion the unknown was not a thing to be feared, but something to be embraced and conquered. Those around her eagerly accepted it into their lives on her behest with recklessness, drunk on the thrill of being near her. Like one would take a nameless lover into their bed they met in the hazy corner of a grimy bar, heedless of the dangers the act carried with it. Her entire being was euphoric and addictive. Every encounter leaving astonishment at grappling against death and emerging alive in it's wake. 

Being around Marion was like sliding your fingers along the back of a venomous snake. Featherlight touches and fast retreats could only keep you safely for so long before an inevitable strike would come. 

Strikes came. They always came. Avoiding them was a kindness Marion was oblivious to. Most found fangs in the form of an aftermath that resembled a devastating windstorm. Relationship strewn about like so much debris, abandoned and left to wither away as Marion moved on. Venom in the form of an aching, bewildered hurt that lingered far after the tempest was over, and Marion long gone.

Marion, was in a word, a brat. As a teenager, she was the reason their mother had very nearly taken up stock in a company that produced hair dye. Marion preferred the company of the most troubled youth of their social circle, finding them to be the most amusing and exciting, rather then the dull and boring girls Bethany spent her time with. Marion smoke. Marion drank. Marion stayed out all night perusing the streets of the city. Marion spent every waking moment (and some of the time even while she slept) finding every opportunity to give their mother a heart attack, her recent escapades had come at no surprise to Bethany. Marion had run off to Kirkwall with some man she hardly knew, and hadn't spoken to Leandra in nearly six months, Bethany had received a post card now and then, scrawled with empty platitudes wishing she was there, and Marions' trademark loopy "M" at the bottom. No return address, of course. Leandra declared enough was enough, and sent Bethany to Kirkwall to fetch her wayward oldest child. 

Bethany worked hard to be the type of daughter her mother Leandra wished Marion would be. She spent her free time working with charities, learning to sew and run a household. Her goal in life had somehow become being the upstanding daughter that alleviated some of the stresses caused to her family by Marion's wild behavior. Bethany was even engaged to the right man, from the right family. Bethany jumped when Leandra said fetch Marion, and did so without question. Bethany was everything Marion was not: kind, polite, demure, patient, courteous.

A coward.

Sometimes, late at night when all the rest of the house slept, she stared at the black ceiling above her bed, the endless boring stretch that is the life of a proper young lady folding out before her, and hated herself so much it made her sick in the pit of her stomach.

Bethany sighed, shying away from her uncomfortable thoughts, and shifted her gaze back to the doors of the dining car. The attendant did not return, and no other train company staff had entered their car. To be honest, Bethany was not all that surprised. The passenger manifest was slight, and that was being generous. The initial train they had boarded from Boston had traveled north to DF Danvers. This is where many of the other passengers, mostly business men and well dressed women with small, excited children, had disembarked the train. From Danvers the train's itinerary was East, it's final stop before heading back South to Boston would be Kirkwall. However, the train had not yet left the Danvers station. Instead it sat idle, a hulking beast of chrome and steam, lurking on the edges of an empty platform.

Twenty minutes had passed since the last passenger had hurried away from their train car, hunched against the chill of the evening, and vanished into the fog shrouded station. Agitation beginning to get the best of her, Bethany firmly decided to find an attendant to explain their situation, when the side door opened with a rush of cold air.

The Conductor climbed up the few carpeted stairs into their car with an apologetic look on his otherwise handsome face.

"Pardon the intrusion, Ladies and Gentlemen. I regret to inform you that we've had a small bit of engine trouble, and this train will not be able to make its next stop this evening." He held up a hand as if to ward off a chorus of comments from throngs of irate travelers, but only two passengers remained besides her, and neither of them made a sound at his announcement. 

Bethany felt her stomach lurch at his words, mouth turning sour and dry. She squeezed her hands together until she could feel the pulse throbbing through them, and took and deep, slow breath. It was shaky, and she did it a second time, and then a third, until the shake was gone. She glanced briefly at the other passengers briefly to gauge their reactions to the Conductors declaration, only to find that they didn't look the least bit concerned. 

One was a gentleman, if she could even call him that. Hunkering down in his seat near the front of the car. He was a disheveled mess, dark suit rumpled, and messy blond hair in bad need of a trim pulled into a half ponytail. At one point during the ride to DF Danvers, Bethany's gaze had landed on him, only see him staring straight forward, head somewhat tilted, mouth moving in a slight, rapid barrage of silent words. She watched, fascinated, and wondered with a slight twinge of nervousness if he was quite unhinged. A soft, surprised sound escaped from her throat as she realized he was staring back at her, a small smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. One amber colored eye closed briefly in a wink, and Bethany tore her gaze away, whipping her head around to the window, face burning.

Now, however, he was gazing impassively at the Conductor, one arm propped against the window, the other draped across the back of his cushioned seat. As the Conductor glanced in his direction, Bethany saw him raise one shoulder in a halfhearted, lazy shrug and tilt his hand palm up, as if to say 'eh, none of it really mattered'.

Across the aisle from her sat the other passenger, and she baffled Bethany in a way that both fascinated her and made her uneasy. She wore a long, wool coat over a straight black dress with a red beaded overlay. The hem of the dress was dangerously high, brushing just below her knees, a style Bethany would have been mortified to even think of wearing. Curls of bobbed, dark hair peeked out from under the sides of her felt cloche. It sported a wide scarlet ribbon nestled against the top of the brim, tied in an exuberant bow just above her right ear, with a brooch of pearls and rhinestones pinned in its center.

Earlier in the day, the woman had been standing languidly in front of Bethany in the ticket line. One heeled black shoe tapping to an imaginary tune, hip turned out slightly, hand resting on the curve of her waist. The other waved a long black cigarette holder through the air, sending smoke curling around her head like a profane halo. Bethany had wrinkled her nose at the smell, and taken a small shuffling step back. 

Her name was Isabela. Bethany knew this having overheard the woman practically purr her name at the man behind the ticket counter. Her lips were startlingly scarlet, cheeks roughed the color of a cold winters flush, and eyes kohled black. The man behind the counter looked entirely gobsmacked as Isabela brushed her fingertips against his hand when taking her ticket, and said something to him in a low throaty voice before turning and sauntering away.

Bethany still wasn't sure if she had felt sorry for the man or found it delightful when she approached the window next, and found him still distracted and stumbling over his words.

Isabela was currently shifting slightly in her seat, watching the Conductor intently, and crossed one leg over the other, showing off a long length of beige stocking. She looked more amused than annoyed, which was the current feeling beginning to escalate in Bethany.

Annoyance. Panic. Dread. Feelings that had haunted her for the last week. Chasing her through dreams, leaving her waking in a sheen of sweat, disoriented and certain that someone had stolen her away in the night and left her somewhere unknown. Building and churning in her chest, scrambling and twisting like a feral animal, clawing raw spots in her stomach until she could scarcely breathe for it.

"We have arranged another train, Ipswich Star Lines, to take you to Kirkwall.” The Conductor continued, voice holding no hint of the think accent that predominated the region, “If you need to head back to Boston, the Red Line can take you, but will not leave until tomorrow morning. The train company will cover these expenses for you, and can assist you in finding lodging for the evening if you need to remain in Danvers. Please see the ticket office agent inside, your luggage has already been unloaded." He gestured slightly to the car door leading to the platform. “You’ll want to collect it shortly.” 

With a nod to each of them, and another muttered apology, the Conductor strode through the train car and out the elaborate doors before before Bethany could even ask any questions. She was tired, and worried, and nearly downright angry. The trip to Kirkwall would be another hour. Even before departure she would have to collect her luggage, board another train, and wait Maker knows how long for it to be moving.

She felt as though oxygen was being pulled from the train car, leaving her panicked in an empty, airless void. This whole situation was a disaster, and once she found her sister and dispelled all sick feelings of worry, she would thoroughly blame Marion for the entire affair.

"I don't have this sort of time." She muttered to no one in particular, although Isabela turned her head slightly in her direction. Bethany worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and sighed. It was going to be a very long evening.


End file.
